


I will protect you I promise

by Minita



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jon is in danger, Mentions of past abuse, Mutual Pinning, Our girl has desires, Post-Canon, Protective Sansa, Some touching and kissing, They have to trust each other, Trust Issues, but not too smutty, hence the change of rating, that’s as far as we will go folks!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minita/pseuds/Minita
Summary: Two years after the events at KL Jon is summoned to WF by Queen Sansa. She has important information to share with him.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

“Open the gates” a guard bellows from the tower, recognising their black cloaks of The Watch.

Jon and the two brothers he has brought with him dismount in the courtyard. Two boys with sleepy eyes take their horses. Their welcome party is but one young man with a frank smile, not that he expected more, it must be past midnight and everyone but the guards must be in bed. “Welcome to Winterfell Lord Snow, I will take you to the Queen right away.” He turns to a couple of nearby guards, “take the brothers to the kitchen for a meal and a fire, and then to the guest house to rest.”

The guards nod and he watches as Matthew and Old Wess walk away tiredly. They would have much preferred to have stayed at the inn in Wintertown and they made their displeasure very clear but Jon stood his ground. After what happened when they left the Wall he wanted to avoid as many stares as possible. To cross town at night was a sure way to do that.

They stride towards the chambers in the main keep, the man walks ahead of him, “I trust you had a good journey, my lord, my name is Rudi, my uncle is Maester Wolkan, he served you.” Jon stares at him in silence. Rudi doesn’t seem to mind and keeps walking through the long silent corridor, all the doors are locked and the only light comes from Rudi’s torch. Jon stops in his tracks in sudden realisation. “Maester Rudi, are you sure this is wise? We should not wake up the Queen, I can wait until the morning to see her.”

Rudi has an amused look in his face. He shows Jon his lively smile once again, “don’t fret my lord, Her Grace gave strict orders to take you to her immediately upon your arrival, and as you can see I wear no chain, I found I don’t share my uncle’s vocation, I am the Queen’s steward, just call me Rudi.”

“Well, I am no lord, just call me Jon.” And now they are standing in front of the Queen’s Chambers. The heavy double doors are flanked by torches, their orange glow reflects on the silver gorgets of the two guards standing in attention, engulfing the engraved dire wolves in flames. Rudi knocks and a short girl comes out, a few strands of blond hair coming out of her bonnet. Her expression of plain annoyance turns into shock the moment she sees Jon. “Please wake up Her Grace, her cousin Jon is here.”

The doors open with a low crack. Jon is still adjusting his eyes to the dark chamber when he sees Sansa coming towards him in a long flowy white robe and a huge smile on her face. “Jon!” She looks young, with her hair in a long braid over her right shoulder. The puffiness of her face give her an adorable look, like a child just out of bed. A very tall child. 

Jon’s cloak creates a puddle of fur around his legs when he kneels. “Your Grace.”

”Jon, no! Please, no need for that, we are family.” 

Her arms are very warm against his cold skin. He breathes in the scent of her hair as he rests his head on her shoulder, she inclines her head to steep down to his height. When they break their embrace she turns to the door, “Mya, bring the food.”

“That’s all right, I am not hungry.”

“Oh.” Sansa blinks. “Of course. You probably want to rest. I just thought you would be hungry from the road. I had your favourite made, kidney pie.” She smiles and Jon has no idea what to say next. Both Rudi and Mya look at their feet, uncomfortable with what is meant to be an intimate family moment. Sansa as usual knows exactly what to do. “You may leave us, Mya.”

”I will take Lord Snow to his chambers.”

”No need, I will do it myself, go back to bed, Mya. And Rudi, see that Jon’s men are settled.”

”Yes, Your Grace.” They both bow and close the doors as they leave. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reveals what is the reason behind her calling Jon to WF

“You should have send word that you were close, I would have sent a party to meet you, Jon. It was reckless to ride in the middle of the night.”

Sansa sits straight on a chair. Jon watched as she talked, her deft fingers undoing her braid. Her hair is a cascade around her shoulders. Jon has never seen her like this. When she came to Castle Black she looked exhausted and her hair was wet and sticky from the snow but she kept it in a tight side braid. Later, traveling all over the North, she would sometimes be unable to bath for days, but she still kept her hair tidy and clean-looking. But the sight of her with her hair down is disturbing to him. Even more so because with her wide smile she looks young, almost as young as the girl who left to go south one day to become a princess. Her nightgown is made of a fabric not as thick as she thinks and Jon can see the outline of her hips and her breast. If she could read his thoughts she would think him a monster. 

He shifts in his chair and her voice brings him back to this room. “Jon? Are you all right? I asked you a question and you ignored me. Maybe you should go to bed.”

“No, I’m...hmm...I'm fine. What did you ask?.”

“How many men did you bring?”

“Two.” Her blue eyes widen in shock. She’s not pleased of course, but what can he say? How to explain that many men left when news that the North was independent reached the Wall? Men from the Riverlands, from the Crownlands, some perhaps hopeful to go back home. When he returned after helping Tormund settle his people he found just twenty two men. Even Northenerns fled, perhaps thinking the new Queen in the North would not waste resources chasing deserters. What does Sansa know of life at the Wall, what can a Queen understand about oathbreakers?

“I wrote to you to come guarded. Two is not what I had in mind. Are they at least good swordsmen?” 

He scoffs. “Wess is old, but clever, and Matt, Matt is fourteen. The age I was when I joined the Watch.”

“Yes, and look at how well all that turned out.” She fixes her gaze on him with a slight scowl and he gazes back, steadily. After what feels like hours but was probably a minute is Sansa who gives up. She chuckles and shakes her head. “Stubborn as usual.” They both contemplate the fire for a beat. Jon could sit here, do this every night. Then he reminds himself this is not where he belongs and swallows something bitter forming in his throat. He may as well face it already and stop being anxious. “Why did you think I needed guards, Sansa, what is happening?”.

Sansa’s face and voice are grave. “You are in danger, Jon?”

“Danger? What do you mean?”

“Brandon has brought something to my attention, and I did some research on my own, and he was right. There is a group. They are quite small yet but...well, they made their intentions very clear, and there is always someone else they can recruit, someone discontent. I have no doubt they will find their way to the North eventually, and attempt something against you. They hate you.”

Jon tries to make sense of her words but he is a bit lost. The words dance in his head without settling down and the sight of her hair is distracting. Whatever for she undid her braid? “What group?, what are you talking about?”

Sansa observes him in silence, frowning. “You should rest. We will talk in the morning.”

“Sansa, please, I rode for days because your raven said it was family matters you wished to discuss and now that I am here you talk about these mysterious people that hate me? Neither you or me seem to be very sleepy anyway. Tell me.”

Sansa takes a deep breath. “Brandon believes a few are led by someone from Essos. A priest, he said. They talk about dragons, and prophecies and such.” She lowers her voice. “Some think you deserve to die for what happened at King’s Landing and...well, they want revenge. They want to avenge their queen. They want to kill you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am committed to finish this but I have been teaching online and I struggled to find time. To anyone out there still reading this, sorry for the long wait!. In this chapter our love birds spend all night talking. They both start having feelings but slowly. Bear with me.

Sansa.

Jon leans back on his seat, his hands relaxed on the arms of the chair. His dark gaze gives nothing away. Like father’s, Sansa thinks. It shouldn’t be an odd thought to have, after all, she spent all her childhood hearing how much Jon looked like Arya, and father. “The Stark look” people used to say. Not odd at all that a son, even a bastard one would look like his father. And yet, everything she thought she knew about Jon was a lie.

He’s as stubborn as any Stark, though, and she knows he will be stubborn about this. She sighs. Jon’s voice is deep.

“Let them try. I can take anyone.”

She splutters bluntly. “Take them? Plunge your little sword into them, would you? But what about two, or three?”

Jon blinks. “Longclaw is Valyrian steel, it’s not a little sword.”

Sansa gets up and paces around the room, taking deep breaths. When she’s calmer she speaks with her queenly voice, more controlled and deliberate. “I meant no offense to your sword and I have seen what you can do with it, believe me, I’m sure you can take two or maybe three, but four? Or six? Or seven? Can you take seven men with swords, Jon?”.

Jon stares at the fire and remains still but she notices he’s flexing the fingers of his sword hand. Longclaw. Sansa hadn’t noticed but he took off his cloak and his scabbard when he came into the room. They’re hanging by the door next to her own furs. The black and grey of their cloaks match as if they belonged together. She shivers a bit. When she turns back to Jon he has left his chair and is crouching by the fire. The logs crack and sizzle and warmth surrounds her as he speaks again.

“You are chilly. I can’t let the Queen in the North catch a cold. If you die it will ruin my reputation.”

“No one dies of a cold.”

He grins that sad smile of him, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am a queenslayer. I don’t think you could be too cautious around me.” Sansa sits again and Jon drapes his cloak around her shoulders. They watch each other in silence for a moment.

“Mine is warmer. Castle Black has no hot springs running through its walls, or can afford to run fires all day long.” He offers. She remembers how safe she felt in Jon’s arms, warm in his cloak, sipping some watery soup and watching him that first night. He looked nothing like her sweet half brother, so grown up with his beard, broad shoulders and scarred face. Back then watching him stirred something warm between her legs. As it does now. With some effort she pushes that feeling away and tries to make conversation.

“Well, you know, I always wondered how you came to have such a pretty sword. I mean, I don’t know anything about them but I’ve heard Valyrian is quite rare, and you never told me how you got this one.”

“I stole it. From a dead man.”

She is shocked, and suddenly Jon is laughing for real, his head back and wrinkles forming around his eyes. “Jon!” She slaps his arm jokingly and they laugh together. When the laughter dies Jon watches her in silence, for a brief moment she could swear he was looking at her chest.

“Lord Commander Mormont gave it to me. I saved the Old Bear from a wight that attacked him and he was so grateful he even had the pommel made specially for me.”

“Oh.” Sansa shivers again but it cannot be the cold, it’s the memories. The crypts. The dead rising...she pushes the fear down and tries to think of more present danger. “Jon, if there were just empty threats I would not bother you, I’ll let you be. But these people, whoever they are, they are dangerous, and even if you don’t care I have to. I have to care. _I care much more than you think_. As a queen... I can’t let southerners come here undetected and attack you, it will make me look terrible in the eyes of the lords, it will make me look weak, incapable of protecting the North. I mean, if I cannot protect my own brother, what does that say about me as a leader? Please, understand.”

He looks pensive for a moment. “Cousin.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not your brother.”

“Is it so terrible to spend some time with me?”

“Don’t say that, it’s just that I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“Why would you be an inconvenience?” She leans forward and grabs his hand between hers. “You’re a Stark to me. Always have and always will. This is your home. When I came to you alone and afraid, you helped me. I could offer you nothing but war, but you vowed to protect me and you did. You did. Let me return that favor. Let me protect you. For your mother’s memory.”

Jon nods solemnly. His voice is a whisper. “Aye, Your Grace.”

“Don’t call me that. We are family.”

“All right.”

“I will assign you a personal guard and you will stay at Winterfell until we know more about them and can stop them.” She feels a lot calmer now that she has laid out her plan and they both agree. “Now, tell me about your adventures.” Jon arches an eyebrow in response. “Come on, surely you had lots of adventures beyond the Wall, and in all the time we spent together you never told me much about your time living among the wildlings.”

“No, we didn’t have much time to chat amongst war preparations and securing allies.”

“Well, you are not known for your conversational skills either.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.”

None of his tales is dull. Ice monsters, mammoths, battles and girl warriors, and she finds Jon’s take on Stannis quite amusing. She is charmed by it all, although she knows Jon is purposefully leaving the gruesome bits out. She doesn’t feel the time has passed but when he finally leaves her chambers the sun is already filtering through her window. After his footsteps vanish in the corridor Sansa realizes she’s still wearing his cloak.

Jon.

He had some ale and nibbled at bread to break his fast. For some reason he has a knot in his stomach and didn’t touch the butter or the sausages. Matt and Wess are settling along just fine to Winterfell’s big kitchen and generous meals by Night’s Watch’s standards. The news that they’ll be staying indefinitely didn’t seem to bother them. He looks down from the balcony at the courtyard that buzzes with activity, the clang of wood on wood from the youths training is a familiar sound. They tease each other as they spin around, their faces red from the effort. From the corner of his eye he sees a trope of children coming, all of them carrying tiny wooden swords and talking excitedly until a voice booms behind them.

“Partners!”

Pairs are quickly formed and he realizes they have been working with each other for a while. A tall man approaches them and arranges the little fingers to a proper grip, corrects a leg or an arm posture. At his command they all start swinging their little swords. The training yard of his childhood exists no more, burnt by the Greyjoys and destroyed by the dead, but he can’t help to think of little Bran and little Arya, of strong, handsome Robb, and for a moment he could swear he hears baby Rickon’s laughter.

A faint smell of rosemary fills his nostrils and a knot twists in his belly. She is so close their shoulders almost touch, or would if she weren’t so tall. Sansa is wearing a dark cloak that is too short for her.

“You left it last night.”

“Oh. Silly me.”

Sansa turns to the two maids standing behind her, one of them, the brunette one, gazes at him quite brazenly. “You may leave us.” The girls curtsy and walk away giggling. Sansa looks at him and shakes her head. “I have to warn you, the entire castle will know you spent the night with me.”

“I did not.”

“They are young and silly, Jon, but otherwise good maids. You are the most famous man in the North and this is the most exciting thing that has happened since dragons were here, I can’t stop them from gossiping.”

He huffs in exasperation. “We spent the night talking.” Sansa glances to the yard. “I know, but people make assumptions.” She’s standing there looking so poised and he wonders if her hair feels as silky as it looks. He immediately scolds himself for such an inappropriate thought and turns his attention back to the courtyard. When he watches the children closely he sees some of them are girls and now the tall man watches them from a distance while holding a little boy in his arms. He looks familiar but his blond hair is uncommon in the North.

Then it dawns on him. “Is that...Brienne?”.

Sansa seems amused. “Yes.”

“She left Brandon?”

“She went back to her home, to Tarth, to care for her father. Brandon allowed it. When her father passed away I invited her to come here.”

“She should have gone back to her King.”

“Pod is guarding him, the two of them get along well. He doesn’t need her. Brienne has no one else and I am also alone, so I need her more than Bran.”

“You are not alone, Sansa.” He grabs her arm and she turns to look at him. “Yes, I am. Arya is half the world away, and I will never set foot in King’s Landing again so it’s unlikely I will see Brandon soon.” She pauses. “This is not how I thought it would be for us, not what I wanted for our family, but I can’t force people to live with me if they don’t want to.”

“Some of us didn’t have a choice.”

“You did. I sent two pardons, you ignored them. I knew you would because I know how stubborn you are.” As she says this she turns around to leave. Jon takes a step towards her, still holding her arm. The pain he can see in her eyes hits him in the chest like a blunt sword. “Sansa, I...didn’t know.” She’s mute. Her pretty lips pierced as if she is trying to hold back words. “I didn’t think it was a good idea I moved here permanently. I know the lords hate me, and pardoned or not they consider me a traitor and they will not agree with my presence here.”

“You are my cousin, my blood, they have no saying on that.”

_Why_? He thinks, _why trust me after everything I have done_?. He holds her hands, warm and soft, and the sounds of the castle fade away. “I am sorry for...not...telling you about...her...and for not supporting you at the council. I thought after she had her throne she will leave us alone.”

“Did you, Jon? Did you believe she would be a good queen for us all?”

She is pleading with her eyes. For the first time in years he doesn’t have to lie, doesn’t have to pretend, maybe now he can tell her the truth. Maybe a good thing will come out of it. “She said she will help us, but we were still sailing south, to Cersei. Even after seeing the army of the dead she had to be convinced, she had to believe in my loyalty. Bending the knee seemed our only chance at the moment and I might have been wrong to do it but I was the leader, I was the king and I did what I thought best. It was better to lose our freedom than to lose our lives. But I know how much you disliked her and you had every right to doubt my good judgement.”

“I did. Doubted you. A bit. What hurt me the most was that you couldn’t trust me with the truth. But not of that matters now, Jon.”

“It does, it still does. Forgive me.”

For a moment he’s certain she will deny him her forgiveness, and his heart pounds in his chest wildly. He decides he’s going to run away but his legs refuse to move. Sansa nods slowly, her lips parted, her eyes bright. “I forgive you. But you have to trust me, from now on no more lies. You have to trust me with the truth and listen to me.”

“Aye, you are smarter than me.”

Seemingly satisfied by his answer she turns to watch the children but doesn’t let go of his hands. Jon watches her long Tully nose, her cheekbones and the wisps of red hair coming out of her braid. The black fur on her shoulders and her breast raising and lowering with her breathing. Down in the courtyard Brienne dismisses the children that scatter to the wind like doves.

Then the truth strikes him. “No, no, no”

“What?”

“Please tell me Brienne is not my personal guard.”

“I know no one more loyal to me. I trust her with my life. And she’s an excellent sword. An actual knight.”

“But she, she...” he stutters.

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Please, Jon, don’t say it. I’d like to think a man like you won’t resent being guarded by a woman. You are not that shallow.”

Jon stares at her in disbelief. Then takes a deep breath and says, “Fine. But let me just say that I have been here less than a day, and I have been called stubborn and shallow, and not good at conversation. Not exactly welcoming.” Sansa smiles and touches the scar above his eye with two fingers. She does it so gently he thinks he may have just imagined it. She blushes and mumbles “I have work to do” as she walks away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am developing a soft spot for Brienne, you guys and I want her to have some happiness so in this chapter you will find some head canon Braime. Considered yourself warned.

Hoping that a walk will ease his racing heart Jon crosses the courtyard as many servants going about their business just walk pass him without giving him a second look. But he was naive to believe no one will recognize him. Sure enough, a couple of old men stare at him, and a boy carrying wood startles and drops the logs. Someone whispers in the background “It’s him, isn’t it?”. He curses under his breath and practically sprints toward the kitchen. He spots her immediately, her blond hair standing out at least three heads above everyone else.

“Ser Brienne.”

She turns around and bows her head. She is holding a blond boy over her right hip. “My lord.”

“I am not a lord. Just call me Jon.”

“Very well, call me Brienne, then.”

A long line of boys and girls of various ages moves slowly towards a window in the kitchen. One by one they get a bowl and a bun of bread and then sit in small groups on the floor, eating and chatting at the same time.

“Milk and bread time?”.

Brienne points to a nearby bench and they sit together. “Yes, Sansa is adamant they get two good meals a day.” The boy offers Jon a greasy piece of bread he’s been chewing on. “No, thank you, but that is very kind of you.” The boy giggles and goes back to chew enthusiastically.

“This is my son, Jimmy.”

He has big green eyes and a pointy chin, his blond hair is thin, not as light as Brienne’s but rather... _golden. Shit_.

The tall knight is watching Jon with a rather curious expression. She pats the boy’s golden head affectionately and sets him on the floor. He waddles away to a group of giggling girls that hug him and sit him in their laps. He must be imagining things. Surely there’s another explanation.

“I...I didn’t know you were married.”

“I am not.”

Well.

He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable but he’s shocked, and Brienne notices, of course. “I went to Tarth when I found out I was with child. My father was sick and I was starting to show. I also knew the people in the capital would not be kind to me, or to my...son. King Brandon understood. As it turns out, he had just annulled the oaths of the King’s guard and I was allowed to leave. When Sansa was crowned she wrote to me about this idea she had to train the children. I wasn’t sure at first but she assured me I would be welcome here and no one would bother my Jimmy. I had no one else left in the world after my father’s death and Sansa needed me, so I came.”

As she speaks she looks on little Jimmy with such tenderness in her eyes that her features soften a bit. She looks more a woman than a knight right there.

“Well, I am glad you came. I am certain Sansa is pleased with your service.”

Brienne smiles. “Did she tell you already? That I am to guard you?.”

“Aye, she did.”

“I will try to be discreet and stay out of your way.”

Jon observes her. Even in her rough breeches and tunic she cuts an impressive figure, and once she changes to her armor only a dragon flying above Winterfell will be more conspicuous than her. He bits his tongue and looks around. He doesn’t recognize any of these children, he would at least remember their faces if they were the children of the servants, it hasn’t being that long, has it?

“I don’t remember Winterfell having so many children when I was last here.”

“These aren’t Winterfell’s children, they are orphans, war orphans, from Wintertown and smaller villages. Sansa wants them to be trained as soldiers. Those who have the talent.”

“Girls, too?.”

Brienne seems amused. “I don’t know many details but Sansa mentioned it was Arya’s idea to include girls.”

The painful memories, the ones he has spent the last years burying carefully come back at once at the mention of his sister’s name. He tries to fight the lump in his throat as her long Stark face stares at him at a pier at King’s Landing all over again. I’m never coming back.

“Is she...mmm...does she write?”

Brienne nods. “I don’t know how often, but yes, Sansa has mentioned it once or twice.”

“Right.”

Brienne scoffs Jimmy from the ground before he eats a fist of dirt and places him on her hip again. “I have to see the armory. But first I’ll find his nurse. We will talk later, Jon.”

“Brienne?”

“Yes?”

“You said the talented children will get to train. What about the ones without talent?”

“Sewing.” Says Brienne as she walks away. Jimmy waves him goodbye perched on his mother’s shoulder, the sunlight bouncing on his golden hair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds she is thinking of Jon a lot. And not in a sisterly way if you know what I mean.

Sansa.

She’s been trying to concentrate on the entry log spread on her desk, but no matter what Rudi says, she can’t hear it. She shouldn’t have touched Jon’s forehead like that, but there was a rebel curl bouncing about his left eye and she just wanted to touch it. Gods. There’s a very good chance he didn’t mind. He probably didn’t even notice it and she’s making a big deal out of it. With effort, she directs her attention to her steward.

“...And here I have written the total estimated cost of the wheat shippings for the next six moons.”

“Right.” She tries to read the numbers on the log but they just dance in front of her eyes. Jon. Jon’s smell. Jon’s eyes. _Agh!. Stop being silly!, You are a Queen_!. “Where are those numbers, Rudi?”

He looks baffled but he quickly scolds his features and leans forward on the desk, his hand brushing hers and so close Sansa can feel his breath on her neck. He’s a good steward, Rudi, very discreet and loyal, and his conversation is always pleasant. She never feels uncomfortable in his presence even though they spent a lot of time alone in her chambers. Sometimes they take a break from duty and sit there drinking wine, and he’s always charming but respectful. Her council is right, they are, she ought to marry, probably to someone like Rudi, but she has tried marriage before and she’s not inclined to try again.

The door opens with a bang and Jon walks in, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “I just spoke to Brienne...” he stops mid sentence. His gaze goes to her hand and Rudi’s hand on top. The steward takes a small step back, his smile never faltering. “My lord.”

“May I speak to you, Sansa.” Jon says while staring at Rudi. “Privately.”

“We will finish later, Rudi. Wait. Is everything ready for the feast? Have the lords confirm their attendance?”

“Yes, Your Grace, all of them. Lord Manderly is too ill to travel but his grandson is coming in his place.”

She dismisses him with a gesture of her hand. The steward picks up the book and graciously closes the door on his way out as Jon huffs and sinks into a chair in front of her. “Sorry to interrupt your intimate moment. I do hope you forgive me.” She is annoyed, not because of the interruption, or even Jon’s ill manners, but because her mind is restless since he came back. She’s grateful he can’t hear her thoughts.

“Rudi and I were just working. I don’t know what you think you saw but you are wrong.”

Jon leans across the desk and reaches for her hand but she pulls it away and he ends up just touching the top of her fingers that burn at his touch. “Hey. Sorry. I know I have no right to tell you what to do. I should have expected it. You are young and unmarried, it’s only natural.”

Sansa watches him, half his face is in the shadows of the room, half of it ablaze by the setting sun. The man she thought was her father’s shame stands before her as her cousin. The true heir to Westeros, crownless. Even now the legacy of his father will follow him as a curse, threatening. If something happens to him, she doesn’t know how she will carry on. She leaves her seat and pretends to arrange some parchments on her desk to shake off those thoughts.

“Well, you will be happy to know my council will agree with you. Lately they insist all the time I should marry and they even wrote me a list of eligible bachelors. I refuse, they insist again. I don’t want to. I won’t. They can’t make me.”

Jon spins her gently until she’s face to face with him, his hand on her lower back. He’s shorter than her, many men are, but she feels small encircled by his strong arms. “Sansa. I know you have been through a lot, but don’t you want to be happy?. I want you to be happy. You could marry, have children. I know you will be a great mother.”

“I don’t think I could trust anyone, Jon.”

Jon frowns, his lips pressed together. They are so close she feels Jon’s breath on her face, warm and sweet. She wants to touch his face and find out if his beard is soft. Afraid she will embarrass herself she pulls away from his arms but he won’t let her go, his eyes are intent on her face with a million questions. Without a word he drops his arms and turns to leave.

“Don’t!” She clears her throat. “I mean, you said you wanted to talk.”

She points to a side table with a chair. When she manages to calm her trembling hands she pours two glasses of wine. Jon grabs another chair and sits across her. It’s past sunset now, a moonless night falls on the castle.

“It’s good wine.”

“Yes. A gift from Dorne.”

“Gift?” Jon raises an eyebrow. “I hope you know they expect something in return from it.”

Sansa takes another sip before answering. “I have been queen longer than you were king, I don’t need your advice.”

Jon sighs. “Then I guess you won’t like what I have to tell you. Brienne’s son is Jaime Lannister’s isn’t he?. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?.”

“The child’s father is not your concern, Jon.”

She has another glass, enjoying the sweetness in her tongue. The wine makes her think of the south, of the sounds and smells, of the sensuous silks. Not that she desires to go back, she will never. She won’t even consider visiting Bran. She has gotten invitations, to Riverun from her uncle, from the Vale, in Little Robin’s shaky hand, “to strengthen their family ties, to built alliances with the Kingdom of the North” their letters read, but she wrote polite excuses back.

Nearly four years since they took Winterfell, two since she had to come back home without Jon, to wear a crown as frozen as the Northern soil. They have felt like a hundred years. The North has endured. Endured the winter, the wars and the hunger, but it hasn’t being easy, she was alone. To stop herself from drifting away she planted her roots firmly on Winterfell’s hard ground and she is not going anywhere.

“Sansa.” His voice warms her inside. “I know you are clever, truly, I am not criticizing your decisions but...”

“Everything after the word but, Jon.”

He smirks. “At least consider the political implications, would you?”

“Jimmy is a child.”

“He’s a Lannister. They are our enemies.”

“They are all dead, Jon.”

“Not all. Tyrion is heir to Casterly Rock I assume, and the child has a claim. He won’t be happy to find out he has a rival, and this rival happens to be in the North, under your protection.” Jon talks deliberately, letting his words sink. Sansa knows he also has a political mind and how easy it is to mistake him for a Northern fool. He can be convincing. Dragonglass, two armies, a fleet. Dragons.

“Brienne is my personal guess. This is my home and no Southern lord can tell me who is welcomed and who is not.” Jon simply stares at her, observant. “Besides, Jon, we have a thing in the North for bastards. Political implications and all.”

He chuckles and as she does too, she relaxes her shoulders and crosses her legs, comfortable in his presence. She doesn’t mind his long silences because when he’s around she can be herself, she doesn’t have to wear her Queen mask all the time, and when they disagree they try to listen to each other. Even when that fails, she trusts him, even if other people won’t. Her lords certainly won’t. The feast. She had forgotten to tell him.

“Jon, the lords will be here in two days, and we will have a feast for the anniversary of my coronation. I want you there. I know you don’t like feasts but you are my family. It would mean a lot to me if you are present.”

“I still think your lords won’t be happy with me here.”

“Maybe, but I will be.”

He nods. He says nothing else and neither does she, they just sit there in silence, sipping wine. It’s very late when he leaves her. He kisses her forehead. “Good night, Sansa.”

“Good night, Jon.”

It’s not until he’s gone she realizes the cloak he gave her last night is still hanging by her door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, and sorry for taking so long to finish it! In this chapter there is double POV. Sansa finally speaks her mind and shocks Jon. There’s mention of past abuse, nothing too gross but still. Also, a little tiny bit of touching, hehehe.

Sansa.

She usually takes shorter baths, but today she stayed in the tub until the water went cold. Her cheeks are pink from the cold. Mya and Bessy chat excitedly about how much they will dance at the feast while they carefully brush the length of her hair. She watches her reflection in the mirror. She is wearing a new robe she made herself with a gorgeous light green silk Arya sent her from one of her trips. The fabric has minuscule golden roses and she loves how it clings to her body like a tender hug. It’s very comfortable to be in her chambers on the rare occasions she has time to spare. A lot more comfortable than the corseted dress she will wear later at the feast.

How different this will be from her coronation. She wanted her sister to stay for the ceremony but once the ships were ready there was no stopping Arya. At least now that Jon is here there will be someone to sit next to her in the Great Hall like her mother sat next to father.

Jon opens the door without knocking as usual and her maids burst out laughing at once.

“You may leave us, girls.”

Dark haired Bessy throws Jon some suggestive glances on her way out. Jon ignores her.

“You asked to see me?”

“I did. I need you to try this on.” She hands him the grey leather doublet, fur lines the sleeves and collar and the buttons are made of ivory, also sent by Arya for her name day. “When did you even have time to sew this?” He says as he changes behind a screen. 

“I took one of your old ones as a pattern. You left a chest full of clothes when you went south with...her.”

When he appears from behind the screen he takes her breath away. The clothes cling to his figure highlighting his broad shoulders and strong arms and he looks radiant like a prince. He could use a haircut though.

“Come closer, I need to take it in.”

He stands in front of her, her knee between his legs. She pins the sides of the doublet, concentrating to avoid pinching him. He is awfully quiet, breathing fast. When she glances upward he’s licking his lips. Sansa follows his gaze and he is staring at her chest where a glimpse of pink flesh peaks out from her loose robe. At first she freezes, she’s imagining things. That’s it. She’s been alone for so long that she’s making this up in her mind. 

Or is she? Jon has never given her any sign of interest. Sure, they thought they were brother and sister all this time but still....Her head is light although she didn’t have any wine today. She wriggles on her stool and her robe opens more, the rounded top of her breast showing. Jon gasps and grabs her hand. She sizzles at his touch, and madly, boldly, takes his hand and slips it into her robe. When Jon’s rough fingers stroke her gently she feels no shame, she just feels very thirsty, parched.

Jon.

 _Bastard are cursed_. They are born wrong.Even after all these years he can see Lady Catelyn’s face full of contempt. He withdraws his cold hand and shame kicks him in the stomach so hard he might go sick.

“This is wrong.”

“Why?”

Silence.

Sansa has given him everything, her support, her trust, and this is how he pays her? She does not want it, she sees him like a brother, and only that. _But she held your hand in there_ , says a voice.

“Can you please get dressed?”

Sansa doesn’t flee, she doesn’t scream for help like a maiden in distress, she’s blushed but not panicked and she closes her robe quietly. He pours water in a cup for her and another for him, if only to try to still his racing heart. He will apologize, he will beg her forgiveness and leave for the North and never come back.

She’s staring at him, no sign of fear in her eyes of steel. Her words destroy him.

“Men have used me, over and over, they never asked, they just took. I have been to them just a step into power, nothing more. But I am done with that. I will be the one choosing now. I will say yes or no, as it pleases me. Does it upset you so?”

“Upset me? Don’t you see that this we cannot do? You are my sister!”

“You don’t have any sisters, Jon Snow, I am a woman and you are a man.”

_Yes_ , the voice inside his head says, _a_ _woman_. And a lovely one. Fierce like a wolf. But those are dreams long forgotten, he has no right to Winterfell, no right to a wife, to children. _It’s_ _not_ _fair_ , another voice says.

“Are you saying you...you want...me?”

Sansa laughs, and blushes. “I think I do, Jon Snow.”

“But...when...?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

She lifts her chin, a defiant sign from a distant Queen, but she bits her lower lip in a childish gesture he has seen a hundred times before. He closes the distance between them and sits next to her, scanning her face, her freckles, the wisps or hair around her forehead.

“I am afraid I will be a disappointment as a husband.”

Sansa squeezes his hand tight. “Who said anything about a husband? First you have to court me, Jon Snow, and then, if I want you to, ask my hand in marriage, probably in front of the lords.”

“Oh.” He’s feeling foolish, he’s feeling drunk. “What if the lords say no?”

She sighs, exasperated. “I know my duties as a Queen, Jon, and I will continue to do them, but I am more than a crown, I want to do this as a woman. I want to know what is like to have someone that cares. That cares for me and not just wants my throne.”

He nods, lost for words.

“And I want to...learn. Teach me how to do it.”

His stomach turns, and he realizes she is trusting him with this, with her desires. This may be the first time she has said any of this aloud. Not that her previous husbands would have listened, or considered her happiness. She lowers her sight, her hold on his hand tighter. “I mean, I have done it before but not like that... I don’t know what I like or... well, I just want to have a saying in what happens, do you understand?”

Yes.

He used to have silly dreams, dreams of honor, dreams of being called a Stark. Children. But this is the silliest. To love someone like her. To love a Queen. A true Queen. He is not good enough for her, he does not deserve her but, he wants her. He does. _Shit_. His stomach flutters. He has killed enemies a hundred times bigger than him, he has climbed an impossible wall, and is this, this girl he could carry with one arm that truly scares him. To end up letting her down is more frightening than giants at the gates.

Yes. He says silently.

Yes. Drowning in her eyes.

His words fail him but he gives her a light peck on the lips as an answer. Sansa hugs him tightly and the pins on the doublet pinch him on the side but he doesn’t even flinch, he likes it here, safe in Sansa’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted this to be a short fic where R+L=J has actual political consequences. They will both be their usual stubborn but it will all work out in the end  
> 


End file.
